GRRLS: Pilot
by desertredwolf
Summary: The stakes are raised as Daphne Greengrass tries to survive a favor she owes her boyfriend. As her night becomes more and more over the top, she just has to remind herself that it will be over soon. [QLFC; Season 6, Round 3. Captain for Puddlemere United.] [Warning: moderate swearing]


**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. All rights go to respective owners.**

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 **Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition / Season Six, Round Three**

 **Team:** Puddlemere United

 **Position:** Captain

 **Prompt:** 90s Nostalgia: Pulp Fiction (Please note, that your stories should be inspired by the prompt, but the object/song/film itself does not have to appear.)

 **A/N —** **This story was inspired by the pilot tv show Mia Wallace (the lead gangster's wife) starred in, which was apparently so terrible that it never made it to air. Beyond that, we don't know much about it, except that it was about a group of five women (aka, "Fox Force Five") that went on Charlie's Angel styled missions. Mia's character was also very lethal with knives.**

 **Word Count (not including title and author's notes):** 2130 (Google Docs)

 **Betaed by:** **roseusvortex.** **Thank you!**

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 **It's a Muggle!AU and bit of a crack!fic, but then again, the source material is also a bit ridiculous.**

 **Warning: Some moderate swearing**

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 **GRRLS: Pilot**

 _She was tied to an ornate wooden chair in the private library of a fancy mansion. It wasn't her usual Friday night routine—being unwillingly tied to a chair, that was. Spending time in a lavish estate on the other hand? Well, Daphne did that every day._

 _She did find the entertainment lacking._

 _"You cannot stop me!" Tom, apparently the bad guy that evening, shouted at her. "I will be victorious!" He continued his monologue._

 _Ugh, "Tom." There's nothing worse than a villain explaining their evil plans in detail. He was also the worst. She pulled half-heartedly on the ropes binding her hands and feet; they were tied tight._

 _She seriously hated her job._

.oOo.

They were an elite team of super spies—a simple heist should not be challenging. Easy-peasy lemon squeezy and all that, right?

It had been one thing after the next.

They had used the cover of the Minister's Winter Gala downstairs to hide their little operation. They never thought stealing a rare Rembrandt would be easy—just that it would have been easier than this.

Fleur, the grifter on the team, had been mingling in the ballroom. Everything had been going smoothly until two Interpol agents decided to make an appearance. The last thing Daphne heard was that Fleur could no longer keep an eye out for them. She had to stay one step ahead of the men.

Then Cho and Tracey went radio silent which was never a good thing. It was nervewracking to leave a martial arts expert and a pyromaniac to their own devices for too long. Trouble tended to follow them.

Before Daphne had been knocked out and tied to a chair, Hermione had told her she would fix everything. Although, she was now radio silent.

"That is why you will always fail!" Tom proclaimed. He took a deep breath and stared at her like it was her turn to say something.

Daphne raised an eyebrow. She hadn't known he had so many words to say. He had always seemed like a bit of an idiot. Then again, look where she had ended up. She really couldn't talk.

"No, please!" she pleaded, albeit half-heartedly. "Please don't do this! There's still time to do the right thing!" She hated how pitiful she sounded.

But if she played the part, she would get out of this alive.

.oOo.

" _Blaise, are you fucking kidding me?" Her voice was a low snarl. Normal people would have immediately apologized at that tone, but her boyfriend merely smirked._

 _God, she hated him._

" _No," he replied smugly. "And anyway, you owe me." He emphasized the last few words as if he had just triumphantly won an argument. She tried not to punch him—too hard anyway._

" _What the hell was that for!"_

 _She grinned savagely, as he rubbed his shoulder. Daphne wasn't one to lower herself to physical violence, but it was sometimes so satisfying._

" _One job," she said through gritted teeth. "One job, and then I'm out. Then you owe me because this is payback and a half! So what do you need me to do?"_

" _A heist," he replied. "I've taken the liberty of gathering the team you will be working with. Would you like to meet them?"_

 _He handed her a bundle of files. She flipped through them, and her heart sunk with each profile._

 _How was she going to work with these people? They had to hate her; she wasn't that fond of them, after all. She looked at the last page before shoving the packets into Blaise's chest. He awkwardly caught them._

" _At least tell me we don't have some stupid, sexist team name," she said. Blaise winced._

" _Yeah, about that…"_

.oOo.

Tom went back to monologuing. He was getting into it; she should give him more credit in the future. She vaguely continued to listen to him and observed her surroundings.

The library was rather impressive. Daphne couldn't help but admire the aesthetic. Open French doors led out to a small balcony. The dim light from the moon and lamps situated around the room cast deep shadows into the corners. Nearly every wall was covered with shelves of leather-bound tomes.

One of the goons coughed behind her, which allowed her to pinpoint his location. If she had one of her knives, she could have cut her bindings and escaped…

Daphne was quite good with handling knives; it was her specialty. Throwing daggers? She never missed her target. Using blades of all sizes to stab people with lethal accuracy? That went without saying. She thought that she could even juggle them. She had never tried, though. Why would she?

That was a good way to take out an eye. She wasn't an idiot.

No, she was quite clever, and that's what kept her alive for this long. So while Daphne _wanted_ to do something about her predicament, she _couldn't_. At the moment, she was a bit tied up.

Tom continued to drone on and on about his master plan, which she couldn't help but think was a little unrealistic and convoluted. What did cheeseburgers and divine intervention have to do with anything—

 _Stop it, Daphne,_ she mentally berated herself. _Remember it's not worth it. All you have to do is wait for your team to rescue you. Hang in there._

Tom turned his attention back to her. He nodded to one of the goons behind her, and she suddenly felt the cold metal of a gun pressed to the back of her head.

"So, the real question is, Sarah—" _Oh right, that's my secret identity,_ she thought. _Get it together, super spy._ "—what do you think of my library?"

"What?" she asked, completely bewildered. He gestured around them, like a little kid showing off his collection of pet rocks.

The library was obviously nice, but she felt like she missed something.

"The real question is, what do you think of my library, Sarah?" Tom repeated slowly. "Do not make me ask you again."

He gave a subtle nod—she should really give him more credit in the future—toward a rather ornate map on the wall as if prompting her. Her patience had long since run out, however. So out of spite, she ignored him.

"I mean it's fine, I guess," she said with a small shrug, that was more of a half-hearted tug on the ropes binding her hands and feet to the chair than anything. Tom narrowed his eyes and— Yes! There it was; the look of utter confusion she was used to seeing on his face.

"There's nothing else you want to say?" he asked slowly. She shook her head.

"Uh, no."

.oOo.

 _Daphne had a splitting headache._

" _Okay, so what's your specialty again?" she asked. Fleur smiled._

" _I am the grifter on the team," she replied. Her French accent was back in full force, even though she had been working on minimizing it and had lived in Britain for over two years._

" _I'm the mastermind, obviously," Hermione piped up. "Cho is the martial arts expert and Tracey, well…"_

" _I like fire," the brunette replied, flipping a lighter. Cho snatched it out of her hand, and Tracey pouted._

" _Do not forget what you did to the car earlier," the French girl chastised the pyromaniac. Cho silently pocketed the lighter._

" _I didn't mean to set it on fire…and then have it explode," Tracey muttered._

" _Anyway!" Hermione interjected before the conversation got further away from the original point. "I have all your new identities. From this point forward, you are Sarah, Lucy, Rachelle, and Rebecca."_

 _Daphne, Cho, Fleur, and Tracey all respectively picked up their new passports and IDs that Hermione slid across the table._

" _My name is Greta," she finished, taking the last ID for herself. "Welcome to the team, everyone."_

 _There was a moment of silence as they all stared awkwardly at one another._

" _Oh, I get it!" Tracey exclaimed, causing Fleur to jump. "Greta, Rachelle, Rebecca, Lucy, and Sarah! That's why we are known as—"_

" _Don't!" Daphne interjected. Her mood turned sour. "Just— Just don't say it."_

.oOo.

Tom quickly paced and muttered under his breath. He was anxious, and Daphne couldn't help but take pride in that fact. Finally, for the first time in hours, she was having a little bit of fun.

"You have nothing you want to ask me?" he tried again. "Nothing at all?"

She opened her mouth to reply in the negative when the library door literally blew off its hinges. Her team rushed in; their guns were drawn. However, Tom relaxed; this was something he knew how to handle.

"We have arrived to put a stop to your evil plot!" Tracey yelled, pocketing another lighter. Daphne rolled her eyes.

"Finally, I have GRRLS right where I want them!" he shouted.

That was too much. Daphne broke down in laughter but tried to cover it with a cough. Hermione scowled; it was directed at either her or Tom, though probably both.

 _Oh my god._

"I don't think so!" Hermione snapped. Her gun was trained on Tom, but her eyes flickered to the two goons behind Daphne. They all knew they couldn't do much. Daphne still had a gun to her head.

Tom smirked and waved his hand. The second lackey grabbed the back of her chair and dragged it through the French doors. She was abruptly tipped back, as the thug held her chair over the edge of the balcony.

Her team shouted as one, but she was only pushed further over the side. There were only two ways out of this, and Daphne wasn't so fond of one…

"Give me the flash drive," Tom shouted, "or she dies!"

Tracey tearfully made eye contact with Daphne. She mouthed, _"I'm so sorry."_

 _Oh my god, she is a drama queen!_ Daphne thought, slightly amused. _How does she find the energy to do it?_

It was time to end this. Taking a deep breath, she shouted:

"Just let them fucking kill me!"

"CUT!"

Lights turned on, flooding the area with light. Daphne blinked away the spots in her eyes. A bell sounded somewhere in the background. The soundstage swelled with the sounds of rustling paper and quiet chatter. Although, Daphne was sure she heard Blaise cackling in the background.

Tom—better known as Goyle—stormed over to Daphne, who was still tied to the chair. She looked up at him and weakly grinned.

"Why do you keep doing this?" he shouted. "You're ruining my vision! I can't—"

Perfect timing: Blaise—who _was_ laughing, that bastard—smoothly made his way onto the set with Draco, the director.

"Daphne, love—"

"Nobody calls me 'love'!" Daphne interrupted. She glared at Draco. "Only Tracey can call me that!"

"Hey!" Blaise protested. She rolled her eyes.

"You lost your privileges when you made me do this," Daphne retorted. She tugged at the ropes around her wrists. "Did you guys have to tie these so damn tight?"

"Blaise said you would probably try to run away," Draco replied nonchalantly. "Anyway, we're going to do another take before lunch. Can you try and go along with things, and say your lines—"

"Like in the library!" Goyle interjected, his tone petulant. Blaise clapped his shoulder and smiled.

"Why don't we go and get ready for the next take," he said as if talking to a child about to throw a temper tantrum. "He will talk to Daphne." They left and Draco sighed.

"Can you try, Daphne? Please?" he asked. "Also, keep the swearing to a minimum. By 'keep it to a minimum,' I mean don't do it at all. This is supposed to be a family-friendly show."

"I can fucking try," Daphne replied sarcastically. She watched Draco's eye twitch.

He was fighting a losing battle, and they both knew it. Regardless, she decided to throw him a bone.

"I mean, I will not swear while on camera."

"Excellent. Alright, people!" he shouted. The rest of the cast and crew perked up at his tone. "We're going to take it from the top, starting in the library!"

Blaise took that moment, however, and ran up to the two of them. There was a panicked look in his eye.

"Um, hey, Draco," he said quickly. "We might want to actually do lunch. The crew guys need to fix the library door. Turns out, Tracey actually managed to blow it off its hinges."

Draco closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

"Fine," he ground out. "We break for lunch."

A resounding cheer went up across the set. The two men walked away, deep in conversation. Daphne tugged once more at the ropes around her wrists.

"Hey! I'm still stuck here!" she shouted. Blaise turned around with a wicked grin on his face.

"Don't worry, _love_ ," he said. "I'll bring you a sandwich!"

 _He is so dead._


End file.
